


i know you, you're the one.

by anoetic



Series: a softer timeline. [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, Tokio Hotel, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover Pairings, First Meetings, M/M, Rare Pairings, Smoking, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoetic/pseuds/anoetic
Summary: they stand together there after another great house show, waiting to know each other in that midnight wonder.





	i know you, you're the one.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldsteelrail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldsteelrail/gifts).



> ladies, i have... no earthly idea where this story will lead! (to love and boning of course, but how they get there i have no clue!) i am eventually going to name this pairing...
> 
> comments & kudos are always appreciated!

After that night Bill quietly invests himself into all things wrestling, joining every facebook group dedicated to wrestling, liking and sharing every event page announcing the next big house show. How he's made it to almost every show in hopes of seeing him again. How he glows whenever he climbs into the ring, swaying arrogance and pride. How Bill simply watches him, transfixed and infatuated, his eyes never missing a step. How tonight brings them both brilliantly, beautifully, gently to one another, a biting spring rain coloring the midnight air, something forever seeping tender underneath the back of the building.

The last of the crowd is mulling through the back door, the buzz of the last few hours wearing thin as car lights flicker on, echoes of conversation and connection softened against rumbles of thunder. How Bill stands with his back against the brick and mortar, lighting his cigarette as he comes down from his own high, his heels marking the concrete as he shifts his weight on one leg. He's there for a few minutes finishing the final drag of his cigarette and is about to toss it to the ground when he hears a voice by the door way calling out for his attention. He pauses. It sounds familiar.

 It sounds like him.

Bill whips around to look at who it is and is frozen, butterflies from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. The guy doesn't appear to notice anything as he pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head before setting foot onto the pavement, a gym bag slung heavy over his shoulder. "Shit, sorry if I scared you," he says, his voice guilty as he saddles up beside Bill, careful to keep a bit of space between them.

“Just wanted to know if you had any extra smokes on you," he admits before shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, swearing to himself about how fucking cold it is. Bill is already on it, fishing out his pack of cigarettes from his bag with clumsy fingers, jutting a stick out to the guy in offering. "They're reds," he blurts out, his anxiety somersaulting over the edge. "Well I mean, I um, only smoke reds. Is that okay?" Bill could kick himself then, hating himself for being so mealy mouthed, love already catching his tongue.

Luckily the lighting outside the building isn't the best because Bill probably has hearts in his eyes as he glances over at the guy, spotting the warmth of a smile sitting divine on his lips as he takes the cigarette, nodding his head to Bill with a mumble of thanks.

"'m not picky,” he assures him, jerking his hood down to make sure his hair was still tucked up in place. “Far as I'm concerned they all do the same shit to you," he mused, the start of a chuckle following gracefully behind. Bill smirks at that, feeling his nerves loosen a little as they observe the parking lot in silence, red sparks glinting against the guy's hand as he lights his cigarette. Bill chews at the inside of his cheek and lowers his gaze to the ground, refusing to look at him.

He hears a soft exhale, looks up to see a ghostly swirl of smoke disappear into the swallow of the night. The guy coughs then, putting a sleeve up to his mouth for a second, a few more coughs rattling out of him before he clears his throat, grimacing while he slides the cigarette between his lips, exhaling another languid breath of smoke.

He gives Bill a side long glance, smirking bright. "See what I mean? The same shit." They both have a good laugh at that, feeling free and easy in the presence of one another. The rain has started to let up, the parking lot nearly empty as the two of them continue to smoke, twin flames glowing faint against the dark. The guy taps the ash from his cigarette and shuffles it beneath his feet while Bill stands quiet, butterflies sweet in his chest. “So what’s your name?” the guy asks him, his back leaned against the wall. Bill doesn’t look away from the lot, slowly blowing a puff of smoke from his lips. “Bill,” he answers simply, brown eyes spotting a far away flash of lightning.

The guy makes a thoughtful sound, pulling one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground, stamping it out with his heel. “m’ name’s Roman,” he tells Bill, and Bill sinks his teeth into his tongue to keep himself from uttering out “ _I_   _know.”_  He doesn’t say anything at first, just turns his head to notice Roman looking at him with a smile that burns Bill sweet and he acknowledges Roman with a nod of his head, mumbling out a withered  _“cool.”_  

Bill feels like a fool, digging his nails into his palm in frustration. He’s ruined this already, ending it before it even began. He flicks his cigarette to the concrete and steps on it with a huff, silently scolding himself until he remembers that Roman is still here, still looking at him, still wanting conversation with him and Bill falters, whispering out a shameful apology as he steps back against the wall of the building and wraps his arms around himself, the chill of the air beginning to sink through his bones. Roman seems aware of Bill’s discomfort, the interest in his eyes fast becoming concern. 

“You ain’t gotta stay and chat, y’know. No point in gettin' sick over me,” he teases. He hears Bill laugh a little at that, pretty lips soft in a smile and he feels relieved, ducking his head down with a smile of his own. “We’ll probably see each other again soon anyway,” Roman adds, shoving a hand in his pant pocket for his car keys. Bill is quiet then, the words settling deep in his heart like something promised.

He hopes Roman is right. 

The night ends lovingly, the two of them walking side by side in the parking lot, talking gladly together about work and other every day things, about how fucking cool it was when Roman smashed that wrestler’s face with a chair. They say  _goodnight, drive safe_  to one another and go their separate ways, unaware that they've already found home.


End file.
